


Tomcats Are at Their Best in Small Doses

by Sugoi_Argonian_Maid



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Breeding, F/M, Final Fantasy XIV - Freeform, Fluff, Keeper of the Moon, Keeper of the Moon Miqo'te (Final Fantasy XIV), Male Miqo'te (Final Fantasy XIV), Male Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Mating, Miqo'te (Final Fantasy XIV), Miqo'te Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Pregnancy, Rutting, Seeker of the Sun Miqo'te (Final Fantasy XIV), Sleepy Cuddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:01:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27093970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sugoi_Argonian_Maid/pseuds/Sugoi_Argonian_Maid
Summary: "What do I look like, some godsdamned Sun Seeker who aches for a male to hover around her at all hours? Go away."--When a familiar suitor tries to woo Olo Jaarli, the Keeper of the Moon Miqo'te quickly discovers her mother, sisters, and aunts don't appreciate having a male hang around their territory for too long. They tell Olo to "either mate with him or shoot him," just as long as she gets rid of the intruder. Olo follows the tom's scent with a bow and arrow and decides to see where the night takes her.
Kudos: 22





	Tomcats Are at Their Best in Small Doses

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I threatened to write a Final Fantasy XIV fanfic, and here we are. What better way to christen my first work in a major fandom than to go horny on main with an unapologetic swerve.
> 
> Asla'to is my WoL, and he's not sorry in the least for being a kitten-fathering rogue. I tried to adhere to FF XIV lore as closely as possible, e.g. I read up on the Miqo'te clans and made up for the years I failed to study anything of worth in college. I still took some liberties, so I beg your forgiveness. 
> 
> Please read my other 'fics if you like this! :D

It was a splendid day in the midst of the Fifth Umbral Moon, and Olo Jaarli was too bone-tired to enjoy a moment of it. Her sore feet washed through the newly-laid carpet of crisp crimson-and-orange leaves as she drew closer to her family’s small settlement in Silent Arbor. The trials of the wine-red Miqo’te weren’t made any easier by the bundle of furs on her back; thanks to the warm autumn, the people of Quarrymill weren’t eager to part with their gil. 

“They’ll change their song by the next Moon,” Olo said to the sleeping cub tucked in the raptorskin sling secured across her chest—her daughter, Tyb Bhagraa. “This warm weather won’t last much longer. _Gods,_ you’re getting too big to carry around. Hate to do it, but after this trip, I’m leaving you with your aunties whenever I go to Quarrymill.”

Tyb, not quite two summers old, slit her eyes open and Olo caught a flash of her emerald irises. The cub put her fingers in her mouth and dozed off again, while Olo stifled a yawn. "Wish someone would carry _me_ around," she muttered.

The Keeper of the Moon caught glimpses of her family’s small village as she drew closer to it, though a stranger would have a hard time noticing the signs: A few broken branches here, an infrequently used hunting trail there. The settlement was tucked away in the thickest foliage bordering the northernmost part of the South Shroud, an area so overgrown and wild that even the Wood Wailers rarely crossed paths with Olo’s mother, sisters, and aunts. Not that the family had anything to hide, of course. They weren’t common game-thieves. In fact, they gladly dealt with any Redbelly or Coeurlclaw poachers who drew too close to their rightful hunting grounds. Wood Wailers were just too fond of bothersome queries like, “What can you tell us about the dead Redbelly Hyur we found in the tall weeds outside your settlement? No, no, we don’t think it was wild beasts; last we checked, efts can’t pump a dozen arrows into a person.”

Olo instinctively knew which trails to wander down and which thickets to push through in order to reach the tiny circle of honey-colored cedar-planked cottages that sheltered her family. She put one protective hand across Tyb’s face as supple branches punished her bare arms and legs upon passing. 

While the scratches gave her cause to grumble on most days, Olo’s aches pains, and complaints fled as soon as she saw the dead antelope resting before the threshold of the biggest cottage. It was well-fattened after a summer of gorging on berries and shrubs. Few flies hovered around the animal’s creamy blue-and-white fur, indicating it had been killed and deposited quite recently.

Olo stopped and looked at the dead antelope. She sighed and ran her hand down Tyb’s black-furred ears.

“Looks like your father’s back in town,” she said.

***

Olo collared two of her older sisters and persuaded them to help her butcher her “gift” in time for the midnight meal. The antelope’s skin was tacked onto a drying rack. Its less palatable offal was stuffed in a sack and hung in a tree out of reach of predators so it could be processed into fish bait later. That night, the family gathered around the hearth at the center of the Matriarchs’ cabin and roasted marjoram-rubbed gobbets of flesh over the coals. 

All the best parts of the animal—the heart, the tongue, and the tenderloin—were piled before Olo’s grand-dam as per usual. The deeply-scarred Miqo’te’s long, silvered hair half-hid a thick neck sagging with skin folds. She grasped her food with long, claw-tipped fingers and gnawed at it with age-yellowed fangs that were unusually long, even for a Keeper of the Moon. 

Suddenly, Olo’s grand-dam looked up from her meal and pointed a half-stripped bone at her progeny. “That black-haired tom was skulking around even before he dropped the doe off,” she said in a voice made raspy by decades of battle cries (and more decades of shouting down the ornery cubs she bore). “He’s been stinking things up around here for days.”

Olo thoughtfully poked at her chunk of antelope. She watched the barely-cooked meat seep blood across the hard slab of bread it had been served upon. “I know, Grand-dam. I guess he wants to see me again.”

Olo’s older sisters and cousins nudged each other and grinned; her little sisters and nieces went on laughing and squabbling with each other. They’ll be innocent for a few summers more, Olo thought with no small measure of envy.

Olo’s grand-dam ripped a chunk from her blood-softened bread and popped it in her mouth. “Well, either mate with him or shoot him,” she said around her stuffed cheeks. “I don’t care; just get him away from here. Nothing good happens when men overstay their welcome.” 

Olo's eldest cousin, a willowy brown-haired Miqo'te named Skynith Lechtraal, glanced at Olo from across the hearth. "It might be nice to have another little one around here to keep Tyb company," she said thoughtfully.

Olo felt her tail bristle. "Oh _would_ it? By Menphina's colon, I'm glad I have your approval to carry and raise another cub while I already have my hands full, Skynith."

Tyb took that as her cue to crawl away from Olo's side ("Watch the fire pit," Olo said automatically and listlessly) and plop herself in Grand-dam's lap. She smiled up at the matriarch who immediately started feeding her the best bits from her plate.

Despite everything, Olo smiled. For all of her grand-dam's threats and complaints about the tom who was currently haunting the settlement, the impish smile he'd passed down to Tyb disarmed the old Miqo'te again and again. 

The moment passed, and every family member around the hearth bore their eyes into Olo expectantly. She threw up her hands. "All right. I'll find him and talk to him."

Skynith clasped her hands together and sighed softly. "We're going to have another little one in the tribe!”

"Godsdammit, we are _not_."

A slow grin spread across Grand-dam's face. "Olo, my child. Do you know what we call a female Keeper of the Moon who promises to 'talk to' a male?"

Olo lowered her forehead onto the tips of her fingers and said, "No, Grand-dam, _please_ tell me" as was expected of her even though she'd heard this "joke" several times a cycle since she was a cub herself.

" _A mother_ ," Grand-dam guffawed. 

**

It was the deepest hour of the night when Olo slung her bow over her shoulder and took up her quiver. The rest of the tribe had gone off to complete their individual tasks and chores, and she certainly had a big one to conquer tonight.

Olo's stomach growled a little. She hadn't eaten much of the antelope; she knew an overfull stomach would be a disadvantage tonight because it would slow her down and make her logy. She was sure _he_ knew it, too. Hells, he was probably counting on it. 

Olo drifted further and further from the settlement, taking care to walk swiftly and silently—a true change from the previous afternoon when she'd waded through the leaves as carelessly as a child splashing through a rain puddle. The Shroud had long since surrendered the last of its daytime warmth. The leaves under Olo's hide boots splashed heavy droplets of icy dew onto her breeches.

The clear, still night made tracking scents easier than reading a picture book. An all-too-familiar spoor wafted past Olo. She stopped beside a yew that was so twisted, so ancient that it was more like a sprawling tangle of thick roots and branches than an actual tree.

"Well, Asla'to," Olo said. "I can hear you, and I can smell you. Come on out.”

Asla'to Marsheel descended from the top of the yew by way of one of its roots, which he jogged along with his arms held out for balance. He lifted himself in a strong, dramatic leap that deposited him directly in front of Olo. Olo didn't flinch.

Asla'to tilted his head. His black hair and dark skin was silver-dappled by the full moonlight streaming in through the forest canopy. "You didn't have to come all the way out here to thank me for the gazelle," he said. "I know you appreciated it."

"Don't start," Olo said in a hard voice as she unslung her bow and quiver. "Look, I'm taking these off because they're chafing me. Grand-dam says I should shoot you for coming near the settlement, but I'll give you a chance to promise you'll piss off and keep your distance."

"How's Tyb?"

"Don't change the subject. But she's doing fine, thank you." Olo hitched her rumpled clothes back into place. "She has your flair for trouble, that's for sure. Has the tribe wrapped around her little finger and has _me_ run ragged."

"Mm," Asla'to said. "Even when I see her from a distance, I can tell she's growing up well. I'm proud of her." Asla'to's arms suddenly shot out and he drew Olo into a hard hug. "And I'm proud of _you._ You're so clever, and you work so hard. Hunt with me tonight."

Olo scratched at Asla'to's arms until he loosened up. She shimmied out of the grip and pushed the male Miqo'te by his shoulders. "'Hunt' my tufted arse," she said. "I know what you're after tonight, and it's not the kind of game you eat."

Olo smacked her open palm onto her forehead as soon as the words left her mouth. Asla'to laughed wildly and leaped on her once more, this time circling his arms around her neck. "Oh! Oh, you walked into _that_ one!"

“All right, yes I did. Now let go of me.” 

Oro pulled at Asla’to’s arms again, but the attempt was less serious. Olo didn’t contest other Eorzeans when they accused Keepers of the Moon of being insular and moody; she readily admitted they were an introverted bunch with a bone-dry sense of humour that confused outsiders. But Asla’to was unusually outgoing, prone to fits of ringing laughter that still startled Olo whenever she heard it. The more Alsa’to called on her, however, the more comfortable she became with his unusual mannerisms. 

_Maybe they’re even rubbing off on me, may the Twelve protect and preserve me._

In fact, an unusual feeling crept up in Olo as she stood enfolded in Asla’to’s arms. She was beginning to feel—

_Oh gods. He makes me feel playful. Like a cub. Like a damned cub._

Asla'to suddenly grabbed the front of her antelope-skin tunic—Olo felt something rip, to her great dismay—and performed a small hop that pulled them both down onto the ground. Olo somehow wound up under Asla’to when she landed on her back in a pile of wet leaf-litter. A heavy _oof_ whooshed up from her lungs.

Asla'to's eyes locked with hers as she gasped for breath. They were twin sparks of emerald flame ignited by his unfurling desire. He smelled of greasy paint and old blood and the dizzying musk of a male Moon Keeper in rut. He pinned her wrists to the ground, hard. "Yield," he said.

"Oh, piss off."

Asla'to pressed harder. His face drew closer to hers. _"Yield."_

"Gods, I don't have all night," Olo snarled. Her tail lashed through the leaves under her. "I yield. I hope you're reborn as a housecat in your next life, and I hope your owner turns you into a eunuch before you can father your first litter of kittens ." 

"Cruel, my dearest," Asla'to chuckled. "Whatever you wish on me for the next life, you'll learn tonight that I'm as virile as you remember."

"Don't make promises under the eyes of Menphina that you can't keep.”

"Wouldn't dream of it. Menphina shows no favour to lovers who make empty boasts." Asla'to released Olo's wrists and lay astride her in the leaf-litter. He began licking her ear and running his fingers across her scalp while a deep, growling sound reverberated in his chest. It wasn't _purring,_ exactly: Olo had never heard of a purring Miqo'te, and she suspected that if anyone in her tribe ever purred even once, her aunts and mother would fill them with arrows. Whatever the sound was, Asla'to was her only male lover capable of making it. 

And Olo certainly didn't hate the sound. She had to admit that much.

"Oh?" Asla'to whispered. "Was that a shudder I felt go through you?"

"Don't flatter yourself. I'm just cold."

"It’s a brisk night. I'll take care to make your heart beat and your blood rise."

"Stop boasting or I'll take your eyes and bring them home for my little sisters to play with," Olo said, but her defiance was melting like sugar in the rain. Damn her green-eyed housecat. Despite her bluster, there was a reason she rarely rejected Asla'to when the rut drove him to find her.

Asla’to pillowed his head under one crooked arm and let his free hand wander up to the front of Olo’s tunic. His fingers drifted up and down the jagged tear that ran between Olo’s breasts. “May as well finish what I started here, aye?”

Olo’s hand flashed up and grabbed Asla’to’s wrist; it was slim but sturdy from years of drawing back his bowstring. Olo tightened her grip on Asla’to and recalled memories of their hunts together—of how deftly he slipped through the trees, his eyes glittering silver-and-green under the moon in revelry for the hunt while he nocked his bow and took confident aim at antelopes grazing a full malm away. Olo’s heart skipped a beat. 

Asla’to smiled wide enough to uncover his fangs. He was breathing more quickly now, Olo noticed. He curled his fingers on the tear that gaped on her tunic like an open mouth.

“You’re beautiful,” Asla’to said in a soft, moon-drunk voice. “You’re silver and fire. Lay with me. Give me another beautiful green-eyed cub.”

 _Godsdammit._ Asla’to was whispering the same flowery nonsense that he’d purred into her ear on the night they’d conceived their daughter. It had charmed Olo then, and it was working now.

_By Menphina’s teats, I hate myself._

Olo grabbed Asla’to by the back of his head and pressed him into a deep, ravenous kiss. Asla’to fell into it instantly, and his happy growl-purr began trembling in his throat again. He pulled at Olo’s tunic, and the rip lengthened, streaking towards her navel like a bolt of lightning. 

“Hey!” Olo barked, pulling away from Asla’to’s eager mouth. “Are _you_ going to mend that? You mite-bitten—"

Asla’to rolled away from Olo’s side and straddled her. “Hung for a sheep same as a lamb,” he said before he grabbed the tear from both sides and pulled again. The hide fell apart completely. Asla’to cupped one free breast and ran his thumb over Olo’s hard, wind-chilled nipple before she could say exactly what she thought.

“It was a fine tunic,” Asla’to half-murmured, half-laughed as he moved his free hand up to work at Olo’s other breast, “but it belongs with the Twelve now.” He pinched lightly where it counted, and Olo couldn’t keep herself from gasping as she arched her back suddenly and sharply. “Besides,” Asla’to continued, smiling mischievously after Olo’s reactions, “I much prefer to run my hands around the treasure that tunic kept hidden from me. You’ll make a new one, aye? A better one? You always were clever with your hands.”

“You’ll see ‘clever with your hands’ soon enough, housecat,” Olo said around the pounding lump in her throat. She twisted away from his ministrations as she lifted her torso halfway up from the ground. She rubbed her palm against the bulge straining at the front of Asla’to’s blue raptorskin breeches, taking care to look into his eyes and smile wryly as she worked. She knew his weaknesses as well as he knew hers, and indeed, Asla’to started to sweat despite the cool night. His legs were still slung across her waist, but his confidence was wilting quickly. He closed his eyes, tilted his head back, and whined softly.

“Don’t—gods—"

“Wouldn’t it be tragic if you came undone under my hand like a teen fumbling through his first rut?” Olo whispered. “You’d have nothing left to give me, so I’d have to send you away. I’d go home and have a good laugh with the others about your failings. Then maybe I’d go find another tom to keep me company though the night—"

The threat worked; Asla’to collected himself in an instant. “You’ll not!” he spat, his voice hot with alien anger. He brought his hands down on Olo’s shoulders hard enough for the leaf-litter to flutter under the impact of her head and torso. Asla’to looked down at her with a quiet, open-mouthed snarl that made his canines seem especially long and sharp. “You’re _mine_ tonight. Only mine.”

Olo matched his glare, unblinking. “Prove it.”

Alsa’to fell on Olo’s neck immediately, kissing, licking, and, before very long, nipping. When Olo struggled, Asla’to pushed his whole body down onto her and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. His bright, playful mood returned as he buried his face between her breasts and ground his body against hers. Olo threw her own arms around Asla'to's shoulders, gathered her strength, and heaved to one side so that Asla'to wound up beneath her. (And not without making a sound that was, to Olo's great amusement, similar to a surprised "mew.") Olo rose up; now _she_ straddled him, and her mind was filled with thoughts of vengeance. She grabbed the waist of Asla'to's breeches and pulled until the thongs of raptorgut holding the front of the garment together snapped.

"Now we _both_ have some mending to attend to, don't we," Olo said.

"Gods damn it, woman! Why'd you go and do a thing like that?"

"You should thank me. Those breeches tore like paper; high time you made yourself a new pair." Olo folded back the leathery flaps that bordered the rip she'd made. Asla'to's iron was free now, straining and eager. Olo made to touch it again, but Asla'to shot up and crashed into her like a wave. Her own breeches were down and puddled around one ankle in half a moment—the antelope skin was fresh and pliant, thankfully, so nothing tore—and Asla'to was between her legs. One hand landed beside her shoulder, while the middle fingers of the other hand slipped into her, two knuckles deep. A hiss of approval slipped past Olo's lips as she moved her hips with the new friction. She held Asla'to by his temples and touched his forehead to hers. She could feel a streak of his sweat-dampened warpaint smear itself on her skin. Her heart melted.

"My mangy, tattered housecat,” she whispered. “I’ll take what you offer me tonight, and if Menphina wills it, maybe it will become something more.”

“Then let’s enjoy the night and let the gods handle what happens in the morning,” Asla’to returned in his own husky whisper. 

Asla’to met no resistance when he pressed inwards. Olo felt as if every part of her body was primed to meet him, to receive and appreciate the feeling of him pumping into her, the feeling of his tunic rubbing against her bare breasts, the feeling of his long tail lashing against her hips and outer thighs. Even Olo’s soul was engorged with a rare, dizzying love that only visited her when Asla’to moved with her, made her sing with him. None of the other male Moon Seekers who visited her could coax out the same feeling of warmth and devotion—and the gods knew Asla’to had to work hard to find and nurture that chilled, guarded part of herself. Yet somehow, he always managed.

Asla’to was submerged in instinct now. His breath sawed in and out of his throat in rough gasps as he leaped to the height of his excitement. His mouth was half-open; his fangs revealed themselves once more. He opened his eyes for a moment and their fiery gazes locked. Asla’to cried out, fell forward, and pressed his cheek to hers. His hips moved harder, faster.

Olo braced herself; she knew from past experience he was prone to bite hard in this state. But Asla’to suddenly kissed the rim of her ear so tenderly that Olo gasped. The gentle gesture sent comparatively fierce jolts of emotion through her body and into her deepest, most secret muscles. A moan unfurled in her chest and grew rapidly; it burst from her throat and carried Asla’to’s name skyward, past the canopy, past the moon. His own cry of praise entwined with hers, filling their pocket of the South Shroud with a song that caused nearby nutkin to pause in their evening activities, tilt their heads, and wonder.

Olo and Asla’to rolled over onto their sides as one body. Olo allowed herself a moment of vulnerability, enjoying the secure weight of Asla’to’s arms around her neck and the sound of his purr. For a change, there was no tension in her legs, no gnawing drive to survey her territory for game or poachers.

But nothing could last forever, least of all a warm afterglow and a protective embrace on a chilly evening. Olo began to feel claustrophobic and irritable. “You’ve emptied your grubby gil purse,” she murmured into Asla’to’s chest. “It’s time you were away.”

“Mmmm.” Asla’to hugged Olo a little harder. “Let me be with you a bit longer.”

“What do I look like, some godsdamned Sun Seeker who aches for a male to hover around her at all hours? Go on.”

“All right, all right,” Asla’to chuckled. He detached himself from Olo, rose up, and helped her stand. The pair slowly put themselves back together, brushing leaves and twigs from each other’s backs and picking bugs from the bases of each other’s tails. Olo was reminded of the huge tear down the centre of her tunic, and she started complaining again. Asla’to silently gestured down at his wrecked pants in turn.

“I’m off, your Majesty,” Asla’to said as he hitched the last bits of his ensemble back into place and slung his bow and quiver back across his chest and over his shoulder. “I won’t be far, but I’ll keep out of sight. Gods forbid I become too familiar and get your grand-dam’s tail in a frizz.”

“I won’t save you if you attract her ire again,” Olo said. She hesitated. “But if you want to stop by and see Tyb once a moon, I’m sure she’d be happy to see you.”

“I’ll not turn down your generous offer. Farewell, my fire! Until I see you again.”

Asla’to leaped away from her, clearly intending to land lightly on one of the lower boughs of a nearby Shroud oak. He didn’t miss his jump, exactly, but their tumble had seemingly drained some of the energy from his legs. He had to grab onto the bough and scramble upwards when his jump fell short. He cursed and kicked and several arrows fell out of his quiver as he worked to save his footing.

Olo snort-laughed and gathered a few of the arrows. She held them up and called, “You want these, O mighty god of the hunt?”

“Keep them,” Asla’to called down from his bough once he was confident about his footing. “I’ll pick them up later. It gives me an excuse to see you again.”

“If I _do_ kindle a cub and it resembles you in any way, I’m going to tell the midwife to leave it out in the Shroud. It’ll be a mercy.”

Asla’to only had his ringing laughter to respond with this time, which he left lingering on the crisp night air as he fled through the Shroud’s canopy. Olo listened to the sound until it faded and gave way to the chirr of insects calling to one another and bullfrogs puffing themselves up with gusto. 

She brushed herself off one more time and darted back towards her family’s settlement.

—

Months later, there came a warm, deeply green day that found Olo examining some courel bones she'd left to bleach in the sun outside the settlement. She selected a promising femur and eased herself onto the ground with a soft _oof_. She procured an iron file, took a moment to envision the hunting knife she was about to craft, then began sawing away. Tyb, who'd been leaping and pawing at a butterfly, abandoned the chase to squat beside her mother and watch her work. Her glittering emerald eyes followed every move Olo made, and Olo explained each step.

Tyb's black-furred ears turned towards a new sound, and mother and daughter both looked up from their work. Asla'to approached them with an antelope doe slung across his shoulders and a broad smile on his face.

Tyb heaved herself to her little legs and gasped “Daaa!” before toddling to her father. Asla’to heaved the carcass off his shoulders, picked up Tyb with bloody hands, and spun her around, laughing.

“Tyb! No! I just washed you up,” Olo cried to little avail. She shook her head at Alsa’to as he approached with Tyb in his arms. They were both smeared with antelope blood.

“The second one is taking his time, isn’t he?” Asla’to said, his eyes flicking down at Olo’s ripe belly.

“One week overdue,” Olo huffed as she hauled herself to her feet. “I assume you shot the antelope for us?”

“Just providing for my favourite mate.”

“Drop it, housecat. I’m your nothing. Still—" Olo put her hands on her hips and looked at the beast. “You have my thanks. The midwife’s forbidden me from lifting burdens, which makes hunting for myself a little difficult.”

“Don’t get rusty with your bow, now,” Asla’to warned.

“More than enough Redbelly scum to shoot in these parts, not to mention those harem-loving Coeurlclaw deviants just up north. They’ve been keeping me sharp. By the way—" Olo cut her eyes at the male Miqo’te. "What are you getting at by calling the cub inside me ‘he?’”

“I just have a strong premonition he’s our son. That’s all.”

“There hasn’t been a male born into my family for over five years. Don’t get your hopes up.”

"No harm in hoping," Asla'to said cheerfully. He sat down on a nearby mossy log and bounced Tyb on his knee. "Tell your mother to give you a brother," he said into the cub's hair. Tyb merely laughed and tried to catch her father's tail as he lashed it back and forth for her.

Olo shook her head again and sighed. "You'll take whatever Menphina gives us, and you'll damn well like it. Now, are you going to get off your backside and help me butcher this antelope? I assume you're inviting yourself to dinner."

Asla'to stopped playing with Tyb and looked up in surprise. Then he smiled slowly. "And here I'd prepared for you to say 'bugger off, housecat.'"

"That'll come later," Olo said with a grunt as she knelt down to retrieve her newly-made bone knife. She twirled the end of the virgin blade against her finger and sucked on the bead of blood that appeared. "For now, I won't lie. I can use your help. After putting me in this condition, it's the least you can do."

"Fair enough," Asla'to said, putting Tyb gently aside. He cast a wary glance at the settlement in the distance. "What about your grand-dam and your aunts? Are you sure you're not setting me up so they can use me for sniping practice?"

Olo slowly knelt beside the sky-blue antelope and stabbed its plump belly. She unzipped hide, fat, sinew, and muscle until the antelope's guts slopped onto the ground. Tyb, still smeared with the animal's blood, knelt beside her again and watched her work with serious concentration. Olo looked into her daughter's green eyes and felt a wave of love and affection that was so intense, her heart ached with happiness. 

"Trust me," she said.


End file.
